Wishing on a Star Page 3

  ‘Now,’ I replied, gave myself a last push to the top, got my toehold, scrambled, turned, and sat on an iron beam of Clickimin’s roof. Now I was as high as the first platform of Sorlandet’s mast. I looped my harness around the beam, and let my legs dangle. Below me, behind a net, two pairs of badminton players rushed about like human spiders. The ‘thwack’ as each hit echoed around the metal ceiling.

  Ertie came up to join me. He sat for a moment, watching the badminton, then sighed. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I saw him on the roof late on Sunday,’ I said. ‘I thought it was a joke.’ I glanced sideways at his set jaw. ‘I thought it was you, actually – that had done it, I mean, when I thought it was a dummy.’

  He grimaced. ‘I wish now I had joined in. Maybe, then, he’d still be alive. But I don’t understand –’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘you mean you knew about it?’

  ‘I was there when they discussed it. In the pub, after a session. Someone said what a good fun it would be, and Derek agreed.’

  ‘It wasn’t his idea, then?’

  ‘No.’ Ertie frowned, remembering. ‘No, I think it was Janine’s.’ He looked around, as if expecting to see her. ‘Of course, she’d not be here today. The whole practice is devastated.’

  My head jerked up. ‘I thought she was a secretary.’

  ‘She is – to Derek’s practice.’

  ‘Access to the weapon,’ I told Gavin, after the arrest. ‘Medical knowledge. A climber. She had it all planned.’

  ‘Once we looked it wasn’t hard to get evidence. The neighbour identified his photo as her boyfriend. Funny the neighbour didn’t recognise him.’

  ‘The east-west divide,’ I said. ‘He was Scalloway. He socialised and shopped there, not in Lerwick. Conversely, she never came over to Scalloway, and so never saw him with the family.’

  ‘Janine thought he’d leave his wife – until she saw them all Christmas shopping in Commercial Street.’ All together, looking like a united family. Like Maman and Dad on Gaudete Sunday, after all these years apart. Sometimes the first bonds were the strongest. ‘Then she got angry. For two years, he’d strung her along … There was a knife missing from his consulting room.’

  ‘In the sea, probably.’

  ‘She had a ticket for yesterday’s boat. If you hadn’t found that dummy she’d have been gone before anyone looked closer at the body on the Castle.’

  ‘That was where her planning let her down,’ I said. ‘The east-west divide. I bet she’d looked it up, so that she threw it in at high tide, so the sea would take it away.’

  ‘But it didn’t,’ Gavin said.

  ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘She’d looked up the Lerwick tide tables. High water Lerwick was at one o’clock. The Atlantic tide on the west side is two hours earlier.’

  I set down my mug and looked at my watch. ‘Watch the time for your flight.’

  Gavin grimaced and rose. ‘So … let me know when you set out. Safe journey.’

  ‘See you in Scotland,’ I said.

  Santa Lives

  Tricia Maw

  I know the local launderette isn’t an ideal place to spend Christmas Eve, but it sure beats my empty house.

  I’d dropped the two boys off at their father’s earlier in the day. It was Martin’s turn to have them for Christmas this year, an amicable arrangement which usually suits all of us, but after I’d left I was full of nervous energy. Louisa, Martin’s new wife, has that effect on me. She’d strolled down the stairs in a black, skin-tight jumpsuit looking immaculately groomed and impossibly thin. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t resent Louisa and I’m certainly not jealous of her. She’s really good for Martin and the children think she’s cool. But sometimes, she makes me feel fat, frumpy, and middle-aged.

  Consequently, I arrived home in a bad mood, already regretting turning down an invitation to spend Christmas with friends. I decided to work off my bad temper by having a blitz on the kids’ bedrooms, something I’d put off for too long. By the time I’d finished and shoved the duvets into the car it was almost dark and the launderette was empty and hot. I sat round the corner by the dryers and picked up a magazine. It was quiet and peaceful and the gentle sloshing noise of the machines made my eyes feel heavy.

  I must have dozed off because, when I looked at the washing machine opposite me, I could see Santa Claus rolling around inside. His fat red trousers, his matching jacket trimmed with fur, and his long, white whiskers were pressed up against the glass, trying to get out.

  ‘Oh, you poor man!’ I cried. ‘Let me help you.’ I rushed towards the machine just as a large dark shape appeared at the launderette’s glass door. Pinching myself to make sure I was awake, I looked at the shape again. It was definitely Santa’s reindeer. Snow covered its fur, its antlers tapped against the door, and its breath misted the glass.

  ‘I don’t need any help,’ a voice said behind me. ‘I’m OK. Please don’t turn round.’

  I turned round. A naked man, looking very embarrassed, tried not to meet my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream. Well, you do hear of strange goings-on in launderettes.

  Then a dog barked.

  ‘Be quiet, Bonzo,’ the naked man said. ‘He thinks you’re going to attack me,’ he added apologetically.

  Bonzo? I looked at the reindeer which was standing on its hind legs pawing at the glass. It was definitely a dog.

  ‘I thought …’ I stopped. I wasn’t quite sure what I thought any more. I looked closely at the man and realised he wasn’t entirely naked. He was wearing a rather snazzy pair of red and white striped boxer shorts and a large pair of black boots. On the bench beside him was a brass bell.

  ‘You’re Father Christmas,’ I said accusingly.

  He nodded sheepishly. ‘Gerry Drysdale, actually.’ He smiled disarmingly and held out his hand.

  ‘Tessa Stanton.’ I put my hand in his.

  Bonzo chose that moment to put both paws on the door handle and bound into the room. Leaping excitedly, he shook snow over both of us. We stepped out of his way as the antlers slipped over his eyes and he crashed into the washing machine. One of its knobs flew off and rolled across the floor out of sight. The machine gave a protesting gurgle and stopped in mid-cycle.

  I hate to admit it but I got a fit of the giggles. Gerry’s face was a picture of horror when he realised the machine was jammed with his clothes still inside and neither of us could get it to start again.

  ‘I was only doing this as a favour for my dad,’ he wailed. ‘He’s been Santa Claus at Barton’s department store since he retired, but he wasn’t feeling well last week and asked if I’d stand in for him. Then, one of the little darlings threw up all over the suit, so I nipped into the launderette to wash it. I didn’t think there’d be anyone here.’ It was his turn to sound accusing.

  I took pity on him and threw him a quilt cover out of the dryer. ‘Here, wrap this round you and I’ll drive you home.’

  Later that evening the house didn’t seem empty any more. Bonzo, minus his antlers, was asleep in front of the fire. Gerry, wearing a pair of Martin’s old gardening trousers and a shirt I’d found at the back of the airing cupboard, was stretched out on the couch.

  I thought of Louisa, having to cope with my two boisterous children and hating every minute of it, and felt full of joy and goodwill. Gerry was cooking Christmas dinner for his dad tomorrow and that was one invitation I didn’t turn down.

  I put my hand in the pocket of my jeans and curled my fingers round the washing machine knob. I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. After all, I told myself, it isn’t every day you meet Santa Claus in the launderette.

  No Smoke Without Fire

  Bill Kitson

  It was the pre-Christmas meeting of the three emergency services. It was held at Dinsdale police headquarters, as was customary, following a series of tragic events surrounding past festive seasons. Their focus was to ensure their response was as efficient as possible, should similar circumstances arise.

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p; Detective Sergeant Lucas Sharp, known as Luke, had only been transferred to Dinsdale a few months earlier, and most of the names and faces were unfamiliar to him. Seated alongside Luke was another newcomer, Dr Paula Morton, who would be the emergency doctor on duty throughout the festivities. Introducing themselves before the formalities, they agreed that having arrived recently meant they had both been handed the short straw.

  They listened as Detective Superintendent Geoff Parker outlined the reason they were there. ‘It seems that the festive season attracts the worst kind of behaviour, whether irresponsible or malicious. In the last few years this has been marked by three major incidents, all of them tragic in their own way, and two of them linked.’ He glanced down at the notes in front of him. ‘Ten years ago, on Christmas Eve, Towlers department store was robbed. Soon after the staff left the premises, two armed, masked men forced their way into the building, overpowered the security guards, bound and gagged them, broke open the safe in the manager’s office, and escaped with the takings. What started as an armed robbery became even more serious because one of the security men suffered a heart attack and died.’

  Parker paused for emphasis. ‘The intruders were never apprehended. Suspicion fell on two local lowlifes, but there was insufficient evidence to bring a prosecution. The surviving security guard was arrested, and when his house was searched, officers discovered a cache of money amounting to several thousand pounds. He protested his innocence, claiming that he had won the money on a day’s outing to Wetherby races. He said he was saving it to surprise his wife and children at Christmas with a holiday to Disneyland Florida. Although there was evidence that he did attend that race meeting, the jury did not believe his story.’

  Parker glanced at his audience and could tell they didn’t believe the tale either. ‘The security guard, whose name was Danny Butler, was sentenced to fifteen years, with manslaughter being added to the conspiracy and armed robbery charges.’

  If those hardened by their profession had been unmoved by the superintendent’s account, this was certainly not the case when he invited an officer from the traffic division to describe the second tragedy.

  ‘It was three years ago. There had been little snow, but in the weeks leading up to Christmas, the temperatures were sub-zero. Despite the best efforts of the local authority, many of the minor routes in the dale were highly treacherous due to black ice. The road leading to the summit of Black Fell was one of the worst affected. A few days before Christmas, a convoy of vehicles set out on this road to attend a party at Dinsdale Hall Hotel, close to the summit. As they negotiated a hairpin bend, we believe one of the cars skidded on the ice and collided with another causing a chain reaction.’

  He looked at his audience, his face grim as he continued. ‘All three cars went over the edge and down a two-hundred-foot drop. Fire destroyed the vehicles, killing the occupants. Seven people lost their lives. It is by far the worst RTA this area has ever suffered.’

  Having heard this harrowing account, the senior paramedic added, ‘We have the task of responding to these incidents and the effect on all concerned is traumatic, not only for those involved but also for those attending. And our time is also wasted out on the streets, picking up the members of the public who are celebrating the season, not only at the time but for weeks ahead. Our resources could be far better utilised.’

  Geoff Parker nodded in agreement and turned to the Chief Fire Officer who stood up before continuing. ‘Last Christmas Eve, a fire destroyed a house on the Normanton estate. There were three people in the building, a mother and her two children. All three died of smoke inhalation. The cause of the fire was later determined as arson. Petrol had been poured through the letterbox and ignited.’

  Parker took over the commentary. ‘Remember I said two of the events were linked? The three who were killed in the fire were Danny Butler’s wife Sandra plus their two children. I had the unenviable task of driving out to Felling Prison and telling Butler the news. I have to say, I pity the people responsible for that fire should Butler ever catch up with them.’

  Luke Sharp interrupted, speaking for the first time. ‘You made one connection between the events, Geoff, is there any chance the fire might have been some form of reprisal aimed at Butler?’

  ‘Good question, and the answer is we simply don’t know. We can’t even be sure there was a motive, as such. It might have simply been the random act of a psychopath. Fortunately, there have been no further incidents of that kind.’

  Parker looked round to see if there were any further questions. Everyone seemed preoccupied, dwelling on the senseless waste of so many lives. ‘You can appreciate why we need to be totally prepared. The plans we put together in this meeting could literally be life or death decisions. We have to bear in mind that it is not only the public, but also our colleagues, that we have to protect.’

  When the meeting ended, Luke Sharp turned to Paula Morton. ‘I don’t know about you, Doctor, but I could do with a pint.’

  ‘I’m with you there. Listening to your boss and the others was a bit like reading one of the gorier plots by that bloke who writes thrillers set round here.’ She smiled. ‘Lead me to the nearest bar.’

  They walked across Dinsdale’s market square, which was almost deserted in the early evening despite the fact that it had been market day. The only people in sight were council workmen who were dismantling the stalls, and their colleagues who were cleaning up the litter that was the inevitable result of the day’s activity.

  The town was shrouded in fog. For once, it seemed that the weather forecasters had got it right, as Sharp commented. ‘At least we won’t have to contend with black ice this year, the forecast is for mild, foggy weather until Christmas.’

  They entered the Three Tuns Hotel and headed for the bar, where Luke asked her what she wanted to drink. Much to his surprise, Paula asked for a pint of Theakston’s. He ordered two pints of bitter. As they took their seats in the bay window, Paula noticed that Luke opted for the one in the corner. She wondered if that was to hide the ugly purple birthmark that covered one side of his face. He asked for Paula’s opinion of the meeting they had just left.

  ‘It would have depressed me had I been that way inclined, but as a doctor I’m used to having to deal with things that have already taken their toll. The number of times where we can be proactive in prevention, rather than attempting a cure, is sadly not enough.’

  ‘We’re much the same. Crime prevention is only a small part of our work, and when things like that arson attack happen, we have no chance of stopping them. It makes you feel so helpless.’

  ‘If you were to find the person responsible, would that be classed as murder?’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But some smart defence barrister would probably argue the case. The difficulty would be proving the intent was to kill those inside rather than simply torch the building. However, from what Geoff Parker said, it sounds like a hypothetical question. After all this time, we stand little chance of identifying the perpetrator, short of a miracle.’

  Paula smiled sympathetically. ‘You never know, Luke. It’ll be Christmas soon, and that’s supposed to be the season of miracles.’

  ‘You may be right, should we cross our fingers or something?’

  They laughed, took a drink, and looked round at the bar which was beginning to fill. ‘How are you settling in to the area?’ Paula asked.

  ‘I haven’t had much time to get to know anyone around here, so it’s a bit of a relief being on duty over Christmas. Otherwise I’d be bored out of my mind.’

  ‘Don’t you have family to go to?’

  Sharp shook his head. ‘No family, not of my own at least.’ He looked at Paula and decided she was the understanding sort. He added, ‘I was abandoned as a baby by my mother, raised by foster parent after foster parent for years.’

  ‘That must have been hard for you. Were you never adopted? Surely there was a lot of demand for babies and toddlers?’

  Paula was
surprised by the grim expression on Sharp’s face. His reply was given with great reluctance, it seemed, ‘I believe so, but as someone from the adoption service kindly told me, nobody wants to take responsibility for a child with deformities such as mine.’

  If she’d been surprised earlier, Paula was shocked by the bitterness in Sharp’s voice. ‘What deformities? I can see you have a birthmark, but lots of people have them. Not all as visible, maybe.’ She winced at her own tactlessness.

  ‘That’s not the one I was referring to. I was born with one leg shorter than the other. It caused a very ungainly limp, which put people off. Naturally, those who saw me before I could walk had to think up other excuses to reject me.’

  ‘There’s no trace of it now.’

  ‘No, I had to go to America for a very expensive operation which helped. I also wear hand-made shoes that correct the remaining imbalance. There’s no trace of a limp unless I get really tired.’

  ‘Were you were adopted eventually, then?’

  ‘Yes, but not until I was almost twelve years old. That’s why I became a police officer. It was a policeman and his wife who finally took pity on me.’

  ‘Via the adoption agency, I presume?’

  ‘No, the officer caught me about to help myself to some sweets in a local shop. He was off duty, and instead of having me arrested he talked to me, found out my history, and a couple of days later he brought his wife to meet me at the foster home.’

  ‘What persuaded them to adopt you?’

  Sharp’s habitually dour expression lightened a little. ‘The sweets I was trying to steal were toffees which I’d never had. He couldn’t understand how a child could reach my age without ever having tasted a toffee. Then I told him nobody had ever bought me sweets. The only ones I’d ever had were ones I’d stolen.’

  ‘They must be like a family to you, surely?’

  ‘Oh, they are, but this year they’re in Australia visiting my older sister, their daughter, and her family. I can’t begrudge them that. They gave me everything I have, including my job.’